


Lost and Found

by whenshewrites



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alpha Derek Hale, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Awesome Sheriff Stilinski, College Student Stiles Stilinski, Deputy Derek Hale, Derek Hale Deserves Nice Things, Derek Hale Loves Stiles Stilinski, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Idiots in Love, M/M, Peter Hale is a Little Shit, Rebuilt Hale House, Sheriff Stilinski Ships It, Stiles Stilinski Has PTSD - Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, Stiles Stilinski Leaves Beacon Hills, Stiles Stilinski Leaves the Pack, Stiles Stilinski Loves Derek Hale, Stiles Stilinski is a Mess, Stilinski Family Feels, The Hale Pack - Freeform, The Pack Ships It
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-06
Updated: 2020-07-16
Packaged: 2021-03-05 01:13:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,108
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25095907
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whenshewrites/pseuds/whenshewrites
Summary: Coming back home, Stiles realizes Beacon Hills isn't everything he remembered. Derek's a deputy, the Hale house is rebuilt, and Peter isn't... intolerable? Something's different. Something's wrong.Or!The one where Stiles leaves Beacon Hills lost and comes back to be found.
Relationships: Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski
Comments: 111
Kudos: 775





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Passion_flower](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Passion_flower/gifts).



Stiles came back from college that summer to a number of surprising things.

Well, three things, if he was being honest.

The first was that the loft was for sale. The second was that Derek had spent the last year rebuilding the Hale house, which now provided quarters to the entire pack (who were attending college in Beacon). The third was that some point along the way, Stiles’s dad had decided maybe Derek wasn’t so bad and hired him as a deputy.

Stiles had imagined a lot of things would change when he went off to MIT and stayed there for an entire year without returning. Of course, he hadn’t expected things to be the same when he returned home. But that didn’t change the fact he’d expected none of the changes that occurred; not even one.

He’d thought maybe Derek would finally induct Jackson. Maybe Erica could finally kill Peter. Maybe Isaac would finally stop wearing scarves in hundred-degree weather.

But none of that happened. The rest did, though. 

Stiles didn’t understand.

It started when he waltzed into the Sheriff’s station, expecting to be welcomed with open arms. He hadn’t told his dad he’d be back yet, so he was hoping it would be a surprise. Not enough to give the man a heart attack, of course, but if Stiles could catch him eating donuts without permission, that would be a plus.

He didn’t expect to see his dad laughing in his office with a new deputy. One who had his back to Stiles and looked startling familiar; from about everything waist below.

Stiles would stop to ponder that realization later.

The deputy went stock-still when Stiles entered the office and, as Stiles’s dad straightened, whirled around. Stiles nearly choked on his own spit when he realized the man was Derek, and seeing him in a deputy’s uniform did all sorts of things to his head.

Stiles hadn’t thought it was possible for Derek to wear anything but leather jackets and tight jeans. He’d always thought it was a grumpy Alpha werewolf dress code, not a fashion choice.

But here Derek was, in his dad’s office, wearing a deputy’s uniform, holding a cup of coffee, and making his dad laugh _._

Stiles was pretty sure he’d entered an alternate dimension.

“Okay,” he said, blinking in shock. “Um, what the hell has gone on in Beacon Hill’s while I’ve been gone?”

Then his dad was moving forward and pulling him into a lung-crushing hug. Stiles gasped for breath and wiggled a bit, only giving in when his dad tightened his grip. _“Stiles.”_

“N-nice to see you too, pops.”

“You didn’t tell me you were coming home,” the Sheriff said, and there was the smallest hint of accusation in his voice. Stiles chuckled, finally managing to pull free.

“I wanted it to be a surprise.”

“You’ve been gone for an entire year, Stiles,” the man said. “Trust me, I’m surprised. But I would’ve put together a welcome home party or something. Derek could’ve hosted it at the house.”

Stiles blinked. “Uh, the house?”

“The Hale house.”

“The one that’s in shambles out in the middle of the preserve?”

“I fixed it up,” Derek said, looking awkward. Stiles met his eyes for the first time and his breath stole away from his lungs. It wasn’t that Derek looked any different; his stubble had grown out a little more, maybe. The harsh marks around his eyes weren’t as prominent and he had lines around his mouth like he’d been smiling more. He didn’t look much different, but Stiles still felt his heart skip a beat.

He didn’t know what to do with any of those reactions.

“You fixed it up?”

“The pack has been staying there,” Derek shrugged. “It’s cheaper than renting out rooms on campus.”

“The pack.”

“The betas?”

“Oh yeah,” Stiles said, blinking a few times. His brain was moving slowly and his dad was looking at him in concern now. The man touched the palm of his hand against Stiles’s forehead and then studied his face.

“You look tired, Stiles. Did you drive all night?”

“Uh, maybe.”

The man sighed. “Stiles, you could’ve stopped at a motel. The bags under your eyes have their own bags. Have you been sleeping well lately?”

“Oka-ay,” Stiles said, stepping back. “That’s enough for now. Let’s not jump straight from the ‘Stiles is back’ to ‘Stiles is bad’ train. There’ll be plenty of time for that later.”

“So you’re staying then?” Derek said. He almost looked nervous. “All summer?”

“Yup, that’s the plan.”

The Sheriff pulled Stiles into another bone-crushing hug and he grunted, but took this one. By the time the man drew back, he looked a little teary-eyed. “I’m glad to have you back, Stiles.”

“I wasn’t gonna stay gone forever,” Stiles mumbled. He’d just… well, he’d just needed to get out. He’d told his dad that before leaving, but he hadn’t told anyone else. He’d needed to get out of Beacon Hills and while all the others thought it was just a college choice, Stiles hadn’t planned on coming back. 

Not after the first semester, not on breaks. He’d wanted to see what it was like to live a life without the supernatural again. 

So yeah, Stiles had told his dad and no one else. When he’d packed up and wished the pack goodbye, none of them had realized that it’d be for a lot longer than they’d expected.

Stiles had thought he’d feel guilty at first. But when he’d been driving out of Beacon Hills, the only thing he’d felt was relief.

Relief that followed him throughout the entire school year.

He’d almost forgotten what it was like to be normal. There were no new threats every other week, no injuries or night terrors. No silent wondering if he’d be dead before the next month.

Stiles had gone to class and he’d gone to parties and he’d remembered what it was like to be normal. And if he was being honest, he’d barely thought about Beacon Hills at all.

There was only one thing that kept him awake at night. Or… one person, maybe.

Stiles had refused to ever look into that.

“Stiles?”

He snapped back to reality and blinked at his dad. Once more, the man looked concerned. Stiles shook his head and forced a grin. “Shit, sorry. Maybe I am more than a little tired. You wouldn’t mind if I went home and crashed for a bit, would you?”

“Oh,” his dad said, and Stiles’s eyebrows shot up. 

“Oh?”

“I didn’t know when to expect you back,” the Sheriff said sheepishly. “I was going to take everything out when you gave me a date but now you’re here…”

“Dad,” Stiles said. “Do I still have a bedroom?”

“It’s still there, per-say,” the Sheriff mumbled. “But now it’s more of an office. Derek stopped letting me spend my nights here so I needed a place to do my work when a case kept me up through the night.”

Stiles stared. “Dad, I’ve been trying to get you to stop spending nights at the office for years.”

“Oh. Have you?”

Stiles resisted the urge to give Derek the stink eye. The man was looking more than a little uncomfortable now, glaring at his coffee cup as if it had personally offended him.

“Okay then,” Stiles said. “I guess I could just crash at the couch—”

“You could come to the house,” Derek said. His gaze was still focused on his cup and his words were so soft, Stiles almost missed them.

“What?”

“There’s an extra room,” Derek said. “At the house.”

“The Hale house?”

“Yes, Stiles.”

“Oh,” Stiles said, voice small. “Okay.”

Derek glanced over at the Sheriff and the man clapped him on the shoulder, nodding his approval. “Go ahead, son. I’ll hold down the fort.”

The entire sight was so bizarre, Stiles didn’t even know what to think. He just half-smiled at his dad one more time and then followed Derek out of the office. He was painfully aware of the stares that followed them all the way outside of the building.

“So,” Stiles said, fiddling with the hem of his shirt. “Do you want me to follow you or…?”

“Your dad drove me to work this morning,” Derek said. “Can I get a ride?”

“My dad _drove_ you?”

“He does that sometimes,” Derek said quietly. “Usually when we’re working a case and I’ve passed out on the couch or something.”

“Hold up, you sleep at my house?”

“Only sometimes.”

“Oh,” Stiles said quietly. He unlocked the jeep and tried not to stare as Derek climbed into the passenger side seat beside him. His head was spinning. Maybe he hadn’t gotten enough sleep lately because he felt like he was losing his mind or something.

None of this should be taking him so off guard. But it was.

The drive to the Hale house was a quiet one. Stiles kept wracking his brain for something to say but for the first time in a long time, words were evading him

He nearly hit the breaks when he saw the Hale house through the trees.

“Holy _shit,_ Derek. _”_

The man shifted in the passenger seat, but Stiles could’ve sworn he looked a little proud. When they parked, Stiles just sat there for a moment, trying to take it all in.

The last time he’d seen the Hale house had been when the pack had been hunting a wendigo and Stiles had been the bait; the thing had cornered him against the porch and Stiles had decided then, pretty sure he was going to become wendigo dinner, that he was leaving Beacon Hills for college. And not coming back for a long time.

He hadn’t expected to see the Hale house again. Even after returning for the summer.

“Oh my god,” Stiles said. “It’s uh… not shambles anymore.”

Derek rolled his eyes, but Stiles could’ve sworn his ears were tipped red.

When he climbed out of the jeep, he didn’t expect to see the front door slam open. He also didn’t expect there to be a blur of moment, Derek’s faint growl at his side, and then a pair of arms wrapping around his chest and pulling him so close, Stiles was pretty sure he did hear a crack this time.

Blonde hair tickled his nose.

“Goddammit, Stiles, you giant asshole!” Erica cried, burying her face into his neck. “What the actual hell? What the fuck are you doing here? Get your ass back in your jeep and don’t ever come back!”

Stiles blinked into her hair. Erica’s grip tightened with every word so he was pretty sure she didn’t want him gone. The tone of her voice was pretty convincing, though.

“Uh,” he said intelligently. “What?”

Erica finally drew back. Derek had gone a little red-eyed to the side but the beta only looked at her Alpha and sniffed, before giving Stiles a murderous look. “You suck. You hear me, Stilinski? You suck.”

“... I do?”

“Yes, you do!” She shoved him a little and Derek growled again. But the blonde-haired beta didn’t seem to care. “You tell us goodbye and then you actually leave? What the hell! Do you realize how often we looked for your jeep on holidays? Isaac spent more time moping around than he did enjoying himself!”

Stiles blinked a few times. The smallest flicker of guilt tugged at his chest, but he tried to push it down.

He’d made his choice. And he didn’t regret it.

“We missed you,” Erica said, the fire dying from her eyes. “You realize that, right?”

“I… I didn’t have the chance to come back.”

Stiles knew his heart skipped a beat. And from the narrowing of Erica’s eyes, he knew she’d heard it too. The girl opened her mouth but before she could say a word, Derek stepped closer. 

“Erica, tell the other betas to come help unpack Stiles’s stuff. I want to show him his room.”

Erica’s eyes flashed gold for a moment. She looked at Derek defiantly and his own eyes burned red. It took a moment but she eventually relented, flashing her throat and then turning back toward the house with a grumble.

“Thanks,” Stiles mumbled. Derek shrugged.

“She's just surprised,” the man said. Stiles glanced over and Derek tucked his hands into his pockets, shrugging. “The pack did miss you. They didn’t expect you’d be gone all year.”

 _‘That had been the point’_ lingered on Stiles’s tongue. But he swallowed the words, nodding instead. Derek started toward the house and after a moment, Stiles moved after him.

There were chairs on the porch, a giant TV in the first room that they entered, and a sofa big enough to fit the entire pack. The house was nothing like Stiles remembered; no disintegrating stairs, no bloody floors, no shattered windows. It was full of light and bright colors and Stiles thought maybe he was living in a dream.

And Peter— _Peter—_ sat on the couch reading. He didn’t even glance up as Stiles stepped into the house, but his voice danced through the air.

“Good afternoon, Stiles. Welcome back.”

Stiles blinked at him and didn’t say a word. Peter continued to focus on his book.

Maybe he had stepped into an alternate dimension.

“The betas are on the first floor,” Derek said, nodding down one of the hallways. “So they don’t wake up the house getting ready for school. Peter has a room in the basement and the guest bedrooms are upstairs.”

“Guest bedrooms,” Peter scoffed. Derek glared at him.

Stiles spotted the other betas before he could follow Derek upstairs. Isaac peered out from the hallway and Boyd just stood there, arms crossed. Stiles smiled weakly and waved, and could’ve sworn Boyd glared at him.

Stiles ducked his head and quickly started up the stairs.

“So, the betas don’t seem to happy to see me.”

“You left.”

The two words were stated so plainly, so simply, that Stiles didn’t know why it hit him like a punch to the gut. He swallowed hard and followed Derek into one of the rooms, only to stumble to a stop.

Guest room his ass.

It looked like someone had taken his room and deposited it here. All of Stiles’s posters were on the wall, he was pretty sure that was his desk in the corner, and he _knew_ those were his sheets. Everything was neat, clean, and the room was at least twice the size, but Stiles knew his stuff.

He stood stock-still for a moment and just stared. Then, turning, he gave Derek an incredulous look. “Guest room?”

The man avoided his eyes.

“Dude,” Stiles said, moving forward and gazing around the room. _“Dude.”_

“Is it okay?”

“This is not a guest bedroom.”

Derek shuffled his feet. “I didn’t know when… if… you’d be back. But I wanted to have a place ready for when you did.”

“How long has this been here?”

“Since the house was finished.”

“And the house has been built for…?”

“Two months now,” Derek murmured. “Your dad didn’t know if you’d be back for the summer but with your bedroom being his office now--”

“Wait,” Stiles said, turning around. Derek froze. “Am I supposed to be living here?”

The man looked like a deer caught in headlights. But that was an answer enough and Stiles couldn’t help staring for a moment. Then he shook his head and then scoffed, shoving around the man and stalking back down the stairs. He ignored Derek’s call, ignored Peter glancing up, and ignored the pile of his things next to the couch, stalking out of the house and slamming the door behind him.

The preserve was quiet and still in the summer heat. Stiles stopped on the porch and gazed out as everything suddenly crashed over him. Everything that he’d missed. Everything that he’d never expected.

Everything that he didn’t want.

Yeah, he’d expected some strained reactions when he came back. Stiles had expected at least one of the betas to be pissed that he’d just vanished.

But he’d also expected they’d get over it. It wasn’t like Stiles had been a pillar to the pack anyway; he’d just been there. When Derek needed something, he did the research. When the monster of the week came, he was the bait. Stiles was the token human armed with a baseball bat and of course the pack shouldn’t have noticed his absence.

He’d come back planning to spend the summer with his dad. Maybe he’d help him out at the station again and they could catch up over everything that had happened the past year. Stiles would have gone to see Scott. And he would've paid the loft a visit or two. Paid Derek a visit or two.

But he hadn’t expected this.

Now he didn’t even have a room in his own house anymore. He hadn’t been back a month and the Beacon Hills supernatural was already digging in its claws and trying to drag him back.

Stiles sank onto the porch steps and groaned.

He couldn’t do this. He couldn't go through all of this again; the nightmares, the stress, the danger. Stiles had missed Beacon Hills, yeah. But he hadn’t missed fearing for his life. He hadn’t missed fearing for the lives of those he cared about.

Stiles had missed his dad. He’d missed the intimacy of the pack. He’d missed… he’d missed Derek.

Just not enough for all of this. Not again.

“Stiles?”

Derek’s voice sounded broken behind him. Stiles startled so hard, he nearly fell off the steps and as he spun around, Derek looked _shattered._ It took Stiles a moment to realize he’d said more of that than he’d meant to out loud.

His mouth fell open. But any words died on his throat.

Derek looked at him and Stiles just gazed back. Then the man nodded once and turned away, closing the door behind him. Stiles just stood there and stared; at the closed door, at the fresh paint of it, at the house that Derek had rebuilt.

The Hale house. The life Derek had spent his year rebuilding while Stiles had tried to forget his own.

He looked at the closed door and then turned back around, sinking onto the step once more. Stiles eyed his jeep but didn’t move. Just watched the preserve. Listened to silence. And wondered what else had changed. He wondered what else was different.

And in the end, what else he’d be leaving behind.


	2. Chapter 2

So, pack dinner was a thing.

Stiles trudged back into the house when the smell of something wonderful filtered out of the open windows and he was pretty sure his stomach was howling as loud as the werewolves could on a full moon. 

He moved down the hallway and peeked into what could only be the kitchen; and then continued to blink in shock. 

Because the last thing he expected to see was them all crowded civilly together. The betas Stiles remembered could barely stand still for five minutes and none of them would even stay within five feet of Peter when he was in the same room. That just didn’t happen

But currently, there was a giant bowl of spaghetti on the counter, a stack of plates beside it, and four giant loaves of garlic bread. The pack moved around each other to fill their plates and with exception to a little grumbling or one or two insults, no one was actively trying to leap at the other’s throats.

They were acting like a pack. They were acting normal.

Stiles didn’t understand any of this.

He stood there for a moment longer before Derek’s eyes zeroed in on where he stood. The man didn’t say anything, just nudged Erica’s side, and her face lit up as she spotted him.

“Stiles! Get your ass in here.”

In less than two seconds, three more pairs of eyes snapped to where he stood. Peter smirked and waltzed out of the room and Boyd grumbled something, returning to his plate. Isaac just tucked himself further into his scarves, mumbling something back.

Stiles really didn’t think his ass should be going anywhere near them.

“You know,” he said, backing up. “I’m fine, really. Not that hungry at all. I might just go upstairs, unpack, call Scott and maybe arrange dinner plans with him instead—”

“Oh, hell no,” Erica said. Before Stiles could even react, she was catching him by the collar and all but dragging him into the kitchen. Boyd pushed a plate into his hands— and maybe he wasn’t really so pissed off— but then continued to flash golden eyes and follow Isaac out of the kitchen, so maybe he was.

Stiles quickly filled up a plate and followed the others out of the room. But then he stalled to a stop at seeing the betas sitting around a giant table; no Peter in sight, but this was still the exact opposite of what he’d expected.

Stiles backtracked and turned, nearly ramming into Derek’s chest as the man followed him. Derek stiffened, eyes flashing red, and Stiles squeaked, ducking around him.

“Sorry, sorry, shit, sorry.”

Erica called his name but Stiles ignored her, continuing to hurry back out of the house and onto the front porch. He deposited himself and his plate onto one of the arm chairs and then sighed, gazing out at the preserve.

It took him a few moments to realize somewhere in between Derek’s chest and his escape, he’d dropped his garlic bread. Stiles swore and set his plate down next to his foot.

He hated everything sometimes.

At some point the door opened and closed, and Stiles didn’t even turn around, expecting he knew who it was. He only waved a slightly bitter hand over his head in dismissal.

“Go away, Erica. Or Derek. I’m trying to find my inner peace.”

“Stiles Stilinski searching for inner peace,” a voice scoffed. “Beacon Hills truly had reached its peak.

Stiles tensed and his hand slowly turned into one middle finger. Peter chuckled and moved over, dropping into the chair next to him. Only then did Stiles glance over, frowning.

“Buzz off, Creeperwolf.”

“I haven’t heard that nickname in a year.”

“I bet you haven’t been threatened to be clobbered over the head with a baseball bat in a year either. Now buzz off or I’ll make good on those words.”

“I’ve almost forgotten what it’s like to have you around,” Peter said, completely ignoring him and propping his feet up on the porch railing. “The snark was missed. None of Derek’s betas can keep up quite as well as you could.”

“Yeah, well, I was a delight. Now go away.”

“You were something alright,” Peter said, glancing down at his fingernails. He didn’t seem bothered by Stiles’s growling scowl, though he never really had. Even before Stiles went off to college, his threats had never really affected the werewolf. “Something that actually managed to impact the pack when you left. Not that I ever saw that coming.”

A sour taste filled Stiles’s mouth and he glared at the man. “Is this really why you came out here?”

“I don’t know, Stiles, why did I come out here?”

“To rile me up?”

“It seems to be working.” 

Stiles shoved himself up so fast, he forgot about his dinner. There was a squelch and when he glanced down, there was pasta underneath his shoe. Stiles blinked at it, Peter scoffed, and then Stiles continued to shove past him, knocking the man’s feet off the railing and stalking down the porch steps.

He didn’t think the werewolf even glanced after him. Stiles pulled himself into the jeep and slammed the door hard, shoving the key into the ignition. He didn’t glance back at the house, proceeding to back away and then turn his jeep the opposite direction.

He didn’t need this. He didn’t need Peter and he didn’t need the guilt. He didn’t need— he didn’t need—

Stiles cursed and pressed the gas pedal a little harder than was probably necessary. Derek could suck it if he thought Stiles was spending his summer at the house. He’d come back for his dad and maybe Scott and maybe,  _ maybe,  _ the pack if he had the time for them.

That’s what he told himself, at least.

If he could find the stomach for them, because Stiles hadn’t had a nightmare until one week ago. The day he’d decided to come back to Beacon Hills for the summer.

It’d been when he’d come back to consciousness in a cold sweat with his roommate shaking him awake that Stiles realized yes, he’d made his decision. But no, he wasn’t letting Beacon take over his life. Not again.

Stiles didn’t really know where he was going. But when he found himself outside of Scott’s house, Stiles found his heartbeat slowing down.

He hadn’t told Scott he was coming back either. He’d kept in contact with his best friend; a little bit at least. There had been a call here and there and most of Scott’s texts consisted of work or school or Allison. Only the occasional supernatural text.

Stiles didn’t know if Scott had realized or not how much Stiles had needed that.

So yeah, he’d sort of kept in touch with Scott. And his dad more often than not; they had Friday video chats where Stiles made sure he ate healthy and they talked about classes and cases at the station.

Stiles hadn’t really… reached out other than that. He was pretty sure Derek didn’t have his number. In fact, Stiles wasn’t even sure if he had a phone. If Derek ever needed something, he would have just shoved his way into Stiles’s bedroom in the middle of the night and gruffly told him he needed research done. Not that Stiles didn’t live for those visits. He loved getting scared witless out of his bed at two in the morning. Those visits were often the highlight of his week. 

The thing was, if Stiles wanted to get in contact with the pack, he would’ve just gone to the loft. When he’d told them all goodbye, none of that had really crossed his mind. Or maybe it had and Stiles had just pushed it deep, deep down.

Now, sitting in front of Scott’s house, Stiles hesitated for a moment. So many things had changed he was almost terrified that his best friend would have too. What if this Scott wasn’t the Scott that Stiles had left behind? What if he’d moved on too and now Stiles was the only one left flailing around in the Beacon Hills that he remembered?

He stood on Scott’s doorstep for a lot longer than was probably acceptable. When Stiles finally mustered the courage to knock, it took a long moment for the door to swing open.

Melissa McCall’s eyes widened when she saw him. Stiles offered his best smile but he didn’t even have the chance to get any words out before he was being enveloped in a rib-crushing hug. He choked on his own breath, wondered how it was possible for such a small woman to have such strong arms, and then stumbled back as he was finally released again.

“Stiles? Stiles! Why didn’t you let us know you’d be back in town?”

Stiles chuckled nervously, running a hand through his hair. “I wanted it to be a surprise?”

“A  _ surprise?”  _ Melissa cuffed him over the head. “Stiles, you should have called ahead! We could’ve set something up.”

“You sound so much like my dad, it’s disturbing,” Stiles said in a grumble. Melissa stepped aside and he ducked into the house, glancing around. “So, uh, is Scott home?”

“I’d imagined he’s off with Allison,” Melissa said, and she actually regarded him a little sadly. “I could give him a call if you’d like.”

“Oh, no,” Stiles said, deflating. “I mean, I can call later! You know, when he’s not busy.”

Because it was Allison. Stiles had been so worried things had changed, he’d forgotten how he’d left Beacon Hills. Stiles had never really thought Scott would be the reason he’d stay in Beacon Hills but he’d never admit that their steadily growing rift might’ve been another small reason that he’d left.

Stiles could’ve laughed at himself. He’d been so terrified that Scott would’ve changed too, but it seemed maybe his best friend had been the only one to remain the same.

And Stiles felt relieved at that, right? Yeah, he was relieved. Or something. He’d just… have to make an appointment. In between Allison time.

“I guess I should have called,” Stiles said after a moment. Melissa pursed her lips and pulled him into another hug and Stiles felt himself melt a little bit in the embrace. 

“We missed you, Stiles.”

“I’ve heard,” Stiles said, trying to laugh. The woman moved back, studying his face, and Stiles offered his best smile. “You know, just the expected ‘where the hell were you’ and ‘if you left, why the hell are you back’. Derek’s pack will get over it.”

“You’ve been to see Derek’s pack?”

“Hale house and all,” Stiles said, waving a hand through the air. But then he crooked up an eyebrow. “I didn’t even realize you knew who they were.”

“John takes me to the cookouts,” Melissa said. Stiles’s eyebrows flew up and he stared.

“My dad?”

“Oh, don’t give me that,” Melissa said, cuffing him again. “Your father got lonely while you were gone, Stiles.”

“Okay, I do not need to know how he gets _lonely—”_

Stiles ducked another cuff, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips. Melissa crossed her arms and gave him a small, but exasperated smile. “You shouldn’t be giving me that, young man. I had to listen to Derek Hale interrogate your father every other weekend about how college was treating you and whether or not you were coming home soon.”

Stiles’s smile slipped. He blinked at her. “Me?”

“Yes, you, Stiles. What do you think happened after you left?”

Stiles dropped his gaze. With the silence that fell over the house and the emptiness other than Melissa and him, Stiles suddenly felt like he was intruding. He’d felt that ever since he stepped foot back in Beacon Hills, he noticed. Forcing a small chuckle, he lifted his eyes again and stepped around the woman.

“Well, I guess I’ll just give Scott a call then. And you know, work myself back in. I’m, uh, sorry for springing by. Doesn’t seem like it’s been a year and…”

Stiles trailed off, backing all the way to the front door. Melissa looked like she was going to say something for a moment but then she only smiled a nodded. Stiles waved one more time before all but ducking out the door and making a beeline for his jeep.

He sat in the driveway for a moment gazing at nothing. Stiles… Stiles didn’t know how to feel. He glanced down at his hands and silently counted his fingers before resting them on the steering wheel.

He hadn’t felt his throat start to constrict like this in a while. He didn’t think it was a panic attack; it’d been an entire year since he’d had one of those. And he didn’t have anything to be freaking out about.

Groaning, Stiles traced his hands through his hair. He wanted to go home but there was nothing but a lumpy couch awaiting him. He could go back to the packhouse but the thought of facing Derek and the rest of the betas again made him want to curl up in a ball.

Stiles thumbed out his phone and scrolled to his dad’s name. Then he scrolled to Scott’s and just rested his thumb over it. The boy’s picture was one from freshman year; Scotty with floppy hair, an old inhaler, and absolutely no muscles whatsoever.

Swallowing hard, Stiles scrolled straight past. He went over the names of his classmates, his roommate, the girl he’d gotten together with for all of three weeks.

Eventually, Stiles was at the end of his list. He swallowed hard and gazed at his phone before shutting it off. Shoving the key into the ignition of his car, Stiles backed out of the McCall driveway and took back to the streets.

He didn’t want to go home. He didn’t want to go back to the preserve.

Stiles didn’t know where he was going until he found himself parked in front of the loft. The same one that was for sale, standing like a bad memory against the darkening sky.

Stiles remembered the Alphas from here. The near-deaths of Boyd and Erica. The nogitsune. The first time Derek left, the second time he returned, the last place Stiles visited before leaving Beacon Hills. He remembered how much he hated this place and how it had almost needed to be the last thing he saw before leaving.

Stiles trudged inside to see it was empty other than a bed in the corner and an old sofa shoved up against the nearest wall. Stiles glanced around and his eyes dropped to the floor as he caught a splatter of blood near his shoe.

This was the Beacon Hills he remembered. This was the one he’d worked so hard to escape. No deputy Derek, no rebuilt Hale house, no pack bonding and cookouts.

He kind of wanted to scream.

The last time Stiles had wrestled with himself in this place, he hadn’t been alone in his head. But he was alone now. Stiles felt so alone and it made his throat constrict as if someone had wrapped a noose around his neck. 

He hated this place. He hated the Beacon Hills he remembered. Stiles didn’t know why he was here.

The loft that was. Or maybe the town in general.

Stiles plodded across the room, through the only memories of Beacon Hills that had stayed the same, and dropped onto the bed. It smelled stale. He couldn’t believe Derek ever slept on this thing.

Stiles ended up falling asleep on the thing. 


	3. Chapter 3

Derek… well, he didn’t know what to do.

He’d been so surprised to see Stiles when he’d first stepped foot into the Beacon Hills Sheriff station, that his mind had gone completely blank. Thinking back now, maybe Derek should have gone up to him, should have pulled him close like his father had, and should have made Stiles realize how much he’d been missed.

But Derek had just stood there. Like an idiot. Bumbling about the Hale house, the Sheriff, and how he sometimes crashed on the Stilinski household couch when he felt like it.

Derek didn’t know what to do. But he was pretty sure the things he’d done already had been wrong.

He’d done something wrong. Derek just wasn’t sure what.

Peter seemed to know. He seemed pretty content in keeping that information to himself too, even as Derek crossed his arms and wondered why the hell he ever brought Peter back into the house in the first place.

“You let Stiles go,” he said, eyes flitting toward the empty spot where Stiles’s jeep had been. “Without even trying to stop him?”

“I don’t think he wanted to be stopped, Derek.”

“That wasn’t your choice to make!”

Peter raised an eyebrow and Derek took a deep breath, trying to calm himself down. But his uncle had a way of getting underneath his skin. Even if they had been getting along more often than not lately. 

“Did he say where he’d be going?”

“He mumbled something about not needing the guilt,” Peter said, shrugging. “I stopped listening sometime around that point.”

“Not needing the guilt?”

“Did you not smell it on the boy, nephew? Stiles reeked of pain.”

“... Of pain?”

“Have you really been so blind lately?”

That hit Derek a little bit like a punch to the throat. He glared at his uncle, who didn’t look too bothered, and then growled, pulling out his keys and stalking toward the Camaro. If Peter wouldn’t be any help then Derek would track Stiles down himself.

He didn’t know what he’d do when he found him but… he’d figure that out then.

It was already getting dark outside.

Derek swung by the Stilinski household first, but the Sheriff hadn’t seen his son since he left the station. The man automatically jumped to concern when Derek asked, but he quickly assured the man he would find the boy before he could get into trouble. That got Derek a squeeze on the shoulder and a soft  _ “I know, son”.  _

Derek drove to the McCall household then. He hadn’t come here in a long time; not because of Melissa or anything major. But Scott’s pack and Derek’s pack were… strained at times. When Stiles left, there was really nothing keeping Scott at Derek’s side anymore and he was gone before Derek could even realize what was happening.

He didn’t catch the young Alpha’s scent anywhere around, though. In fact, it smelled stale. As if Scott hadn’t been home in days. Weeks, maybe.

“Stiles was here,” Melissa said when she opened the door. “But he left pretty quickly.”

“Do you have any idea where he went?”

The woman pursed her lips and shook her head. Derek’s stomach sunk and he nodded, turning back around. But Melissa’s hand on his arm paused him before he could move away. 

“Take care of him, Derek,” she said. “When you find him.”

Derek blinked at her. But after a moment, he nodded, and Melissa smiled before letting go again. Derek could feel her watching all the way back to the Camaro and he rubbed a hand over his face after climbing into the driver’s seat, trying to get his thoughts straight.

Where would Stiles go now? If not to his father’s house, or his best friend’s. Maybe somewhere with memories or—

Derek dropped his hand. Blinking out into the night, he sighed. If not somewhere with memories, then it would be somewhere with nightmares. If Derek knew Stiles as well as he knew himself, that is.

“Dammit, Stiles.”

* * *

Sometimes Stiles dreamed he was back in the Beacon Hills high school pool and this time, Scott never showed up.

Sometimes, Stiles felt the weight of Derek against his side like a rock tied around his ankle and he could feel it pulling him under as his energy slowly drained away. Realistically, he knew there was nothing that kept him from letting Derek drop. He could probably save himself if he let go. He could last long enough for Scott to come.

But every time Derek went under, Stiles followed. And every time he closed his eyes, lungs bursting for oxygen, it wasn’t water he was breathing in. 

It was bandages.

Stiles woke up screaming and in a second someone was leaning over him, calloused hands pinning his wrists to the mattress. Stiles panicked even more and struggled harder, but then Derek’s voice penetrated his terrified haze.

“Stiles! Stiles, stop fighting me!”

He did. Stiles went shock-still and blinked up at the man leaning over him, before swallowing hard and turning his gaze away, pressing his tear-streaked face back into the moth-eaten mattress. 

Derek’s breaths were warm on his skin.

“Stiles…”

“Don’t.”

“How long have the nightmares been happening?”

Stiles looked back at Derek coldly. For a moment, he was half-tempted to not answer. But then he scoffed, realizing that his answer might hurt Derek more than keeping his silence. And for some reason, he  wanted  to make the man feel something.

“Stiles—”

“You really want to know?”

“Yes.”

“Since I decided to come back to this Hellmouth,” Stiles said, looking flatly at him. “Since I woke up on the last day of classes and decided that maybe,  _ maybe _ , I shouldn’t abandon my dad. That I should come back for the summer and give everything another chance and—”

“Everything?”

Stiles looked at the man angrily. “Not this.”

“What is this, Stiles?”

“This!” Stiles shouted, shoving himself up and gesturing around. “This, Beacon Hills, the chaos. Everything! Do you know what the common ice breaker is with most people, Derek? ‘Hey, how are you? Where are you from? How do you feel about sports?’”

Derek didn’t answer. Stiles glared at him.

“And you know what answers I have to those questions? Nothing! Because if you go around telling people that you’re constantly looking over your shoulder for monsters, you’re from a place where the  _ supernatural  _ exists, or the last sport you played was on unfair grounds because of werewolves, then you’re basically asking to be locked up!”

Stiles’s chest was rising and falling heavily when he finished. He could feel his throat closing up and panic threatening to crash over him again. Wordlessly, Derek rose. Stiles expected for him to yell back or maybe just leave. Because two years ago, that’s what would have happened. Maybe Derek would even slam him against a wall for good time's sake. That’s what Stiles wanted. He was pretty sure that’s what he needed.

But instead, the man just moved forward and pulled Stiles in close, one hand reaching to cup the back of his neck. Stiles went rigid with shock and Derek turned his face toward Stiles’s, stubble brushing lightly against his skin.

“I’m sorry.”

Stiles felt himself shatter, then.

He slumped against the man, burying his face into Derek’s shoulder, and just let himself crack. Derek continued to hold onto him, even as all of Stiles’s weight crashed against his chest. The man murmured soft, comforting things, but Stiles didn’t catch any of them. He didn't want to catch any of them.

He wanted to yank away. He was pretty sure that's what he was supposed to do.

But Stiles needed this— he needed Derek. The man’s embrace that anchored him to the ground, fingers brushing over the back of his neck in a calm, sweeping rhythm. Because when he'd stopped dreaming of pain and death, he'd started dreaming of this. Of Derek and comfort and home.

When Stiles stopped feeling pain, he'd started feeling hope again. Except, it had only ever tried to bring him back here. And Stiles hadn't ever wanted to come back here.

“I didn’t want to come back, Derek,” he said brokenly. “I didn’t want to come back.”

“It’s alright.”

“It’s not,” Stiles whispered. “It’s not the same. It’s not— I need a reason to hate this place, Derek. Give me a reason to hate this place.”

But Derek didn’t answer. Stiles curled his fingers into the man’s shirt and tried to smother another sob.

“I don’t regret leaving.”

“I know.”

“I shouldn’t feel guilty, Derek.”

“No,” the man murmured. “No, Stiles, you shouldn’t.”

“So why does it hurt so much?”

The man was quiet for a moment. His soft touches over Stiles's neck paused for just a second before starting again. And his breaths were warm on Stiles's face when he spoke again. “Sometimes the past hurts,” the man said softly. “Sometimes, it’ll hurt for a while.”

“Nothing’s the same.”

“You’re allowed to change, Stiles. You don’t have to live in the past forever.”

Stiles closed his eyes and clenched his jaw so hard, his teeth gnashed. Because that's exactly what he’d been doing, wasn’t it? Trying to change. Trying to move on. He’d left Beacon Hills and tried to find himself in a normal lifestyle. With classes and other students and parties. 

And with… with backward glances over his shoulder down each dark street. Hating it when he got so drunk he couldn’t remember what had happened the night before. Laughing things off whenever anyone asked him a personal question and then wondering if he’d said too much later on.

"I've tried to move on," Stiles whispered.  Derek pulled back and studied his face. 

A careful thumb swiped over Stiles’s cheek, wiping away his tears. The man cupped his face, pressing a soft kiss against his forehead, and Stiles trembled slightly. Carefully, Derek rested his forehead against Stiles’s own.

“Come back to the house,” he said. “Stay… the night. And then if you still want, I can drive you back to the Sheriff’s tomorrow morning. We can clean the things out of your room and move everything back. And I—” his voice cracked slightly. “I can keep everyone away. You won’t have to see anyone this entire summer unless you want to, Stiles.”

Another tear traced down Stiles’s cheek. Words of denial rose in his throat but then he just nodded. Derek traced his fingers over the back of Stiles’s neck again.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay.”

Stiles tried not to feel the loss of Derek’s warmth too hard when the man drew back again. He looked over his shoulder one more time, gaze lingering on the empty white bed in the corner. Then his eyes tracked sideways, tracing over the walls of the loft; the bloodstained floors. A shiver crept up his spine.

Derek threaded his fingers through Stiles’s own and tugged him toward the door. Stiles forced his gaze away and just met the man’s eyes. Grey-green that had haunted him for a year now.

Grey-green eyes that were the same, Stiles realized.  Surrounded by old memories, old fears, and old regrets— shoved into new homes, new smiles, and new relationships, Derek’s eyes were the same. Always the same.

Always the same.

Stiles let the man lead him from the loft and this time, he didn’t look back.


	4. Chapter 4

Stiles had been staring at the ceiling for three hours now. 

He’d traced every crack with his eyes and then traced them all again. It was dark enough that he wasn’t sure exactly what were cracks and what weren't, but Stiles tried to trace them anyways. He’d given up on sleep an hour ago and his phone was dead, so it at least gave him something to do.

He felt like he was about to vibrate right out of his skin.

When Derek had driven him back to the Hale house, leaving the Camaro in the parking lot of the loft, Stiles had very nearly not even climbed out of the jeep. He looked at the house for a long moment and debated just sleeping in the back of his jeep, but that was stupid.

Erica had pulled him in close, fingers tracing along the back of his neck the moment he’d stepped into the Hale house. Isaac had just snuffled close and even Boyd had given him a small nod.

Peter had only smirked. That, at least, was something normal.

Stiles shifted again and cursed. Somehow, he knew this was his bed. Derek had been extra enough to bring his bed and his mattress into the house. It should’ve held all the comforts of home.

But Stiles still couldn’t fall asleep. He felt like he was missing something.

After what seemed like another eternity, Stiles rolled out of bed. Peeking out of the bedroom, he glanced from side to side and then plodded out, moving down the hallway of the silent house. Every time a floorboard creaked, he froze. He really wouldn’t be so worried about it except for freaking _werewolves._

Stiles glanced in the direction of Derek’s room but found himself wandering downstairs instead. He moved as quietly as he could around the house, eyes tracking over every single new thing that had never been a part of the burnt shell he remembered.

The kitchen was large, still smelled like dinner from earlier, and was painted the softest color of light green. Stiles couldn’t imagine Derek all covered in paint working on the walls, but he kind of wanted to. Images of the man with smudges on his hands, arms, and face had Stiles smiling a little as he moved out of that room, wandering down the dark hallway.

The betas bedroom doors were open. Stiles almost turned right back around in fear of waking them but when he peeked into the first one, it revealed Erica and Boyd wrapped in each others arms, both dead to the world.

Stiles chewed on his lower lip and watched them for a moment. He’d never imagined this; a quiet calm or peacefulness for any of them. 

He saw flashes of Erica and Boyd hanging in chains from the ceiling. Remembered phantom touches of sharp pain and the breath being kicked from his lungs as a steel-toed boot met his ribs over and over again.

Stiles shivered, retreating back. He started to glance into Isaac’s room, only to freeze when the beta shifted and golden eyes opened up in the darkness.

Stiles didn’t move; barely breathed. Golden eyes blinked at him and then Isaac shifted again, rolling over onto his side.

“Stiles?”

“Go back to sleep,” Stiles said softly. The beta blinked at him.

“Is something wrong?”

“No.”

“I can hear you lying.”

“Just—” Stiles’s words caught in his throat for a moment and he swallowed hard. “Just go back to sleep, okay?”

Isaac looked at him for another long moment. Then he buried himself deeper into his covers and Stiles retreated back, turning down the hallway again. His stomach was all tied up in knots by the time he was back in the living room again.

Moonlight flooded in through the giant windows. Stiles moved toward the front door and pulled it open quietly, padding out of the house.

The porch creaked underneath his weight. Stiles cursed every single step that took him toward his jeep.

Then he heard the front door open and close again. Going stock-still, Stiles closed his eyes and took a deep breath before turning around again. “Isaac, I—”

It wasn’t Isaac.

“Oh,” Stiles said softly. Derek stood in nothing but sweatpants, arms hanging at his sides as he gazed out toward where Stiles stood. Stiles couldn’t make out the man’s face in the darkness and for that, he was kind of glad.

“Stiles.”

“I was just grabbing something—”

“I can hear you lie too.”

Stiles slumped in on himself, cursing internally. _Werewolves._

The man moved down the porch steps, pausing only inches away from where Stiles stood. For a moment, he thought Derek would hug him again— like earlier— but the man didn’t move. Stiles swallowed hard. “Sorry.”

“Do you want me to drive you home?”

_Home._

“I’m sure your father would like to see you,” Derek said softly. “We could set up the couch and get to work on your bedroom tomorrow.”

“I don’t want to leave,” Stiles said. Derek blinked.

“What?”

“I don’t want to leave,” Stiles said again. “At least, I don’t think I do. I just, uh, couldn’t sleep. Usually, there’s someone else in my room, and even though it was just my roommate who was kind of an ass—”

“Stiles,” Derek said, cutting him off. Stiles clamped his mouth closed and the man’s face softened. He gestured back toward the house and Stiles followed him slowly, car keys feeling heavy in his pocket.

He hesitated on the porch steps, though. Derek glanced back at him, but Stiles’s eyes were fixed on the freshly painted door. His throat threatened to close as he remembered the last time he’d seen something like that; and Scott’s claws scraped against the paint, scratching bits of red off to show a threatening black mark beneath.

His heart thudded against this chest. In a moment, Derek was at his side and cupping the back of his neck, fingers squeezing gently.

Stiles melted into the touch.

“S-sorry.”

“What is it?”

“Nothing,” Stiles said softly. “Just… you really fixed this place up. It’s nice.”

There was the ghost of a smile flitting across Derek’s face. Stiles moved first this time, plodding back into the house. The loss of Derek’s touch at the back of his neck felt a little empty but he tried to ignore that thought, moving back upstairs.

They both paused in his room. Stiles eyed his empty bed and then glanced back. Derek blinked quietly at him with slightly red eyes.

“Stiles…”

“I’m okay, Sourwolf.”

“I know,” Derek said. “Do you want me to go?”

Stiles didn’t want to answer that because at this point, he didn’t know what he wanted. He wanted to go home but standing here, he felt like maybe that’s where he was. Stiles wanted to go back to three weeks ago when coming back to Beacon Hills hadn’t crossed his mind but then he shivered at the idea of being states away all alone again.

Stiles didn’t know what he wanted. He moved across the room, crawling into bed, and turned his face toward the opposite wall. After a long moment, the bed dipped again. A warm body curled up behind him, arms wrapping around his chest.

Stiles swallowed hard, turning his head to the side again.

Grey-green eyes gazed down at him.

“Things are allowed change,” Stiles said shakily. “Right?”

In answer, the man touched gentle lips against his temple. Stiles melted against it, his breaths coming out shuddering. 

“Derek, am I allowed to stay?”

“Always.”

“But you’d let me go too.”

The silence reigned for a moment. Derek pulled him closer and Stiles could feel the man’s faint heartbeats curled against his bare skin. Derek tucked his face against the top of Stiles’s head, warm breaths against his scalp. “I would, Stiles.”

“I don’t think I want to go.”

“Stiles—”

“I asked for a reason to hate this place,” Stiles said.

“I know.”

“You wouldn’t give me one.”

“Is that what you want?”

“... No.”

“Can I give you a reason to love it?”

Stiles swallowed hard. 

“Your father,” Derek said softly. “Scott. Melissa. The pack.” He chuckled, the sound vibrating through his chest. “Your father’s diet. Threatening Peter. Keeping Jackson in line.”

Stiles closed his eyes, tracing his fingers over the man’s arm. “Is that all?”

“I’m not going to force you stay if this place haunts you,” Derek murmured. “But I’d protect you if I could, Stiles.”

“Do you have any more reasons, Sourwolf?”

“Me.”

“You?”

“Me,” the man said. “If… if you want.”

Stiles turned his face a little more. Derek actually looked nervous, even in the darkness. Stiles smiled and leaned closer, touching his lips against the man’s nose. Derek hummed at the back of his throat, his entire stance relaxing more against Stiles.

“Okay, Sourwolf.”

“Okay?”

“Okay.”

Derek curled his arms a little tighter around Stiles’s middle as if that was the exact thing he had needed to hear. When Stiles let his eyes close this time, he didn’t feel wide awake or confused, or like he was about to vibrate out of his skin. He felt… safe. Protected.

He felt like he was at home.

Stiles fell asleep that night and for the first time since returning to Beacon Hills, didn’t have a single dream.

* * *

“You’re not allowed to be here anymore.”

Stiles ran a hand through his hair, shifting from foot to foot. He was hot, sweaty, and a lot more than tired. Derek had crossed arms and was glaring at him, a dangerous light in the man’s eyes. Swallowing hard, Stiles raised his chin and glared right back. “And if I refuse to leave?”

“Dammit, Stiles!”

“I know what I’m doing, Derek! You can’t keep putting me on the sidelines, that’s not what we agreed on!”

Derek scowled even more at him. The man was covered in blue paint and his hair was a mess, sticking up in all directions. He held his paintbrush like a weapon and Stiles did too, prepared to swipe the man across the face again if he dared make a single move.

He’d thought Derek had learned his lesson.

“Do that one more time,” Derek said. “And I’m sending you back to your father’s.”

“You snore anyways!”

“Three more weeks,” the Sheriff sighed, looking pained from his own section of painting across the room. “Three more weeks and I can be at peace again.”

Stiles whirled toward his father. “Keep that up and I won’t come back for a year again.”

“I ate better that year than I have in my entire life.”

“That’s because Derek sucks as being strict with you,” Stiles said, giving Derek the stink eye. The man only smirked at him— lunging forward, Stiles painted another line across his neck.

Derek caught him around the middle and Stiles yelped, trying to wiggle loose. The man wrestled the brush from his hand, painting four straight lines across Stiles’s face and over his ear. He let loose a litany of curses, struggling harder.

“Derek, you asshole, let me go!”

“I warned you.”

“Wait. Wait, Derek, I’m sorry!”

The three betas came plodding into the room before Derek could do anything else, thankfully. All three were still dressed in their work uniforms and looking tired. Derek had made them get jobs after three weeks of break had passed and not a single one had bothered to get out of bed until at least two o’clock.

But that left Stiles alone with Derek and the Hale house that still needed repairs.

Erica looked from him, to Derek, and then sighed, making a straight line for the kitchen. Boyd grinned a little before following and Isaac trudged straight toward his room, looking like he was already half-asleep.

Stiles had stopped fighting for far too long. Before he could react, Derek was tossing him over his shoulder and they were moving outside, where Derek dragged him straight toward the garden hose.

Stiles squeaked again and tried to wiggle loose once more. The man tightened his grip.

“Derek, Derek, I said I was sorry. I’m sorry!”

“You’re going to clean yourself up,” the man said, dropping him into the dirt. “And then you’re going to go change. You’re a mess.”

“You’re a mess too.”

“Then you can clean me up as well,” the man said, smirking. From the front porch, Peter made an exasperated groaning noise.

“Please not in front of my book.”

“Buzz off, Creeperwolf," Stiles sniped. "Or I beat you with my baseball bat.”

Peter just grunted and returned to his reading. Stiles smirked and turned back toward Derek, only to yelp as the man turned on the hose, dousing him with a spray of water.

“Dammit, Derek. No!”

The man only continued spraying him until Stiles was soaked and dripping. Then he turned off the water with a smug look and moved over, searching him up and down. There was a slightly hungry gleam behind his eyes as Stiles's clothes clung to him.

Stiles rolled his shoulders back and shivered. The smug look melting, Derek wrapped his arms around Stiles’s shoulders and pulled him in close. 

“I did warn you.”

“Asshole,” Stiles mumbled half-heartedly. Derek chuckled and the sound sent vibrations down Stiles’s spine.

“I am going to miss having your help.”

“Oh, is that all?”

“And you,” Derek said quietly. “I’m going to miss you.”

Stiles closed his eyes, breathing in the man’s faint scent; aftershave, paint, and pine trees. His heart twisted a little bit and he nodded. “I know. But I'll visit often.”

“Every other week?”

“Every other week.”

“Okay,” Derek said softly. Stiles tilted his chin upward and studied the man’s gaze, gaze lingering on his grey-green eyes. They looked a little sad this time.

“Okay?”

“Okay.”

“Don’t forget,” Stiles said softly. “I have a reason to love this place.”

The man smiled. A small grin crept over Stiles’s face.

“My dad, Scott, Melissa, and the pack. My dad’s diet, threatening Peter, and keeping Jackson in line, of course.”

“I’m going to douse you again.”

“And,” Stiles said, a lazy grin curling across his face as he rested his chin against Derek’s chest. “And this giant fluffy asshole of an Alpha who basically sabotaged my room in order to get me to move in with him.”

“Is that so?”

“That is so, good sir.”

Derek huffed and leaned forward, brushing his lips against Stiles’s. Stiles all but melted into the touch, humming softly at the back of his throat. Faintly, he heard Peter groan and shoved himself up, dropping his book to the porch paneling. But that only made him grin and kiss Derek harder.

Stiles had come back from college that summer to a number of surprising things. Well, three things, if he was being honest.

The Hale house; a home. The pack, Peter (sometimes), and his dad; a family. And Derek… Deputy Derek Hale. At the end of it all the man was there. Waiting for him with a promise to never leave.

Derek Hale; an anchor.

And Stiles wouldn’t have asked for any other way to realize Derek was how he wanted to be found.

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the lovely Passion_flower and it was going to be a quick fluffy one-shot, but then the feels got away from me. So now we're going to get some feels, angst, and fluff! I hope that's okay. I'd love to hear what you guys thought <3
> 
> Come hang with me on Tumblr?
> 
> [the dumpster](https://when-she-writes-stuff.tumblr.com/)
> 
> Or on my favorite Sterek discord!
> 
> [not a dumpster](https://discord.gg/RTsjye5)


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